resumed their respective conversations. One of their number, a slight,
pale, young man, as scientifically clothed as Sir Thomas, left his
group, and addressed himself to Molly.

"Ah, here you are, Miss McEachern," he said. "At last. We were all
getting so anxious."

"Really?" said Molly. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Wesson."

"I assure you, yes. Positively. A gray gloom had settled upon us. We
pictured you in all sorts of horrid situations. I was just going to
call for volunteers to scour the country, or whatever it is that one
does in such circumstances. I used to read about it in books, but I
have forgotten the technical term. I am relieved to find that you are
not even dusty, though it would have been more romantic if you could
have managed a little dust here and there. But don't consider my
feelings, Miss McEachern, please."

Molly introduced Jimmy to the newcomer. They shook hands, Jimmy with
something of the wariness of a boxer in the ring. He felt an
instinctive distrust of this man. Why, he could not have said. Perhaps
it was a certain subtle familiarity in his manner of speaking to Molly
that annoyed him. Jimmy objected strongly to any one addressing her as
if there existed between them some secret understanding. Already the
mood of the old New York days was strong upon him. His instinct then
had been to hate all her male acquaintances with an unreasoning
hatred. He found himself in much the same frame of mind, now.

"So you're Spennie's friend," said Mr. Wesson, "the man who's going to
show us all how to act, what?"